


Moon-Dust Wings

by Castiebee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Asexual Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monster!Jon, Moth!Jon, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Lonely - Freeform, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiebee/pseuds/Castiebee
Summary: Martin travels to a small Scottish town hunting for a monster said to be terrorizing people in the supposedly enchanted forest. Things do not go as he expected when he ends up catching a very crabby Angel instead.-New chapter on a sort-of-Monthly update schedule (could update a few days earlier or later)-
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/ Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Angel's Wild](https://archiveofourown.org/works/775515) by [LimonadeGaby (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LimonadeGaby), [riseofthefallenone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone). 



Martin liked to think he was prepared for this. He'd been through enough training to know what to do. First, you research, find a spot, set a trap, then wait. It wasn't a very complex or interesting plan, but it worked well enough to catch many a monster.

That's what Martin intended to do when he rolled into the little Scottish town southwest of Wick in his old beat-up 2005 Volkswagen. His mum down in London had sent him away to research and question the rumors this place had stirred up lately. Most of the stories surrounded a figure within the forest close to the town.

Articles Martin had found online talked about the strange greenish dust oddly painted onto some of the tree bark. They described the human-like voices heard in the winds through the supposedly cursed high branches of the "enchanted forest," or so they called it. A good deal of them mentioned ghosts. Those Martin skimmed through to save time. Instead, he paid more attention to the facts.

The forest itself, being unusually dense, caused people to get lost at a statistically high rate. Many of the lost persons were traders from the nearby towns that traversed the forest to sell goods in larger towns scattered across the mountain valleys. Townsfolk and traders alike had begun to fear camping out on the old forest hiking trail that rested between the isolated highland-town and the glacier-fed lake. The path itself was difficult to trek through due to the thick fog covering the earth. However, the trail being the only path directly North made brave or foolish souls from the towns think they could venture it. It did not often end well.

Every once and a while a lost person would show up, but based on what Martin had read a lot of these people stayed lost. The people who did return were often not the same, suffering night terrors and panic attacks regularly. Though this fact was stated in many of the articles written Martin never once came across an interview of the actual survivors. He thought it best to perhaps pay a visit to maybe one or two survivors of the woods during his time in the town.

So many other articles were written by skeptics berating the town's ghost stories and pointing out the touristy side of the enchanted forest myths. He'd found an overwhelming amount of newspapers and blog posts discrediting any notion of a problem in the town at all. Since public attention had been brought to the town it gained a small amount of limelight, and Martin supposed that with fame came criticism. People trying to ride that little bit of fame to get somewhere. It seemed silly to Martin that he would have believed the skeptics if he hadn't seen worse than what was described in what was inside those woods.

Still, he thought it best to head over to a local pub and ask around. Any research into the local town life was better than no research and Martin liked to be thorough. (Not because he liked this part of the process the most. It's just that talking to people was genuinely better than camping out in the cold wooded old forest. Martin could appreciate his beer a bit better in a warm pub than a cold dirt floor. Besides, any reason to stay was better than admitting to stalling. Which he wasn't doing. At All.)

Martin, lucky enough, had been able to find a survivor of the acclaimed woods in the pub he'd selectively chosen. The man was an old self-proclaimed forester with a short white beard and faded grayish eyes. The old man had actually been rambling to some people about the dust on the trees that supposedly marked the enchanted creatures paths. He was being ignored largely. It looked like the rest of the townsfolk had heard it before and the frantic pace in which the man spoke bored them. That had definitely sparked Martin's interest enough for him to encourage the man to continue by calling for a beer to be placed in front of the old fellow.

The man's eyes shined as he took his drink and settled Martin with a pleased look. He told him of a couple of people in town who had gotten lost following the magical creatures in the unusually dense trees and fog. The folk tales of the creatures living inside the fog that sometimes guided them out, or didn't, though no one had ever seen them. Except for himself, of course.

The delusional forester, "Trevor the tramp," the bar-keep had scowled, told Martin that he believed evil faeries were living in the woods. That he had seen part of their wings, big bulky milk-white wings jaded with green undertones. "The dust from them wings could poison any living thing. I know it 'cause I saw it with my own two eyes." The man rattled pointing to his eye, slamming his drink on the bar table, and standing. His beer spilled a little as he mumbled something or other. "If only I could get a good look at 'em...bloody fog made it damn near impossible..." he grumbled. He warned Martin to stay far away from the woods, lest he be looking for trouble. At Martins worried nod Trevor slowly sank back into his stool and relaxed a bit.

Martin asked the Tramp if he hadn't seen it well how did he know it was a faerie? The forester just shrugged at him and gave him a knowing look with those dead gray eyes that Martin very much did not know, and all at once made him very uncomfortable. Martin thanked the old man kindly and tipped the bartender well before quickly leaving the small pub.

He thought back to what his mother had said about the abomination he was hunting having destructive powers. Martin shivered. Hopefully, he could get this job done quickly and painlessly. He'd really rather not be here longer than necessary. He did not want to leave his mum alone to fend for herself. They were often a team, though not so much as of late. She would go off without him and come home covered in blood raving about how many bullets she'd got in before the "damn things died," while Martin patched her up. It was nerve recking every time she would sneak off without him, but he was afraid to say anything or she'd most likely do it more. Martin had a dreadful suspicion she was trying to get herself killed. He shook his head and tried to clear it of those thoughts.

Taking a deep, much needed, breath of fresh air Martin resolutely decided to start searching early the next day. First, he would look for a place to stay out of the cold. After asking some of the locals he was directed to a larger home a little way out from the village center. The sign on the door front read: 'The Rusty Bookstore and Hotel' on an old dusty wooden plank. Martin briefly wondered if staying at a rusty hotel was a good thing before concluding that this was the only hotel in the town. He didn't want to sleep in his car again if he could help it. He knew from experience how awful his back would feel come the next morning.

Seemingly the owner of the establishment, as indicated by the townsfolk's positive descriptions of her, greeted him at the front desk with a nod. "Don't see many tourists around these days, especially in winter." She said with a sincere grin.

"It's a holiday from my work," Martin said smoothly. He'd done this many times, lying never really got easier for him, but at least this was a bit scripted.

"Ah which holiday?" Georgie asked.

Martin blushed and looked around. "Uh...H-Hanukkah..." he cringed and looked at her. She didn't seem to be paying much attention thankfully.

"Names Georgie," she said looking back at him and taking a key off the desk. "Chag sameach, follow me." She said flawlessly walking around him and up a flight of small stairs.

"Uh-Thanks, I'm Martin," he said rushing after her.

They made pleasant small talk as she escorted him past the three other rooms in the upper hall before presenting him his room key and showing him where he'd be staying. Martin looked into his room from the doorway and a wave of overwhelming lostness overtook him.

Inside was a single bed with tasteful wallpaper and a clean bathroom. He felt himself hesitate, and he loathed himself for it, but he couldn't make himself step into the room. His mum had been right when she had belittled him for being so spoiled and clingy. He had never done such a dangerous job without her or one of his fellow hunters. Looking into the room made him realize just how alone he was. It just felt so wrong.

He felt Georgie glance over at him and frown in thought. "You look like you need a warm drink." She stated. She had apparently made that a resolution because she took his arm and led him back down the hallway from his empty room. Martin was startled from his thoughts as he was dragged along. He looked at her a bit bashfully, but thankful.

The company was appreciated mutually as Martin learned that Georgie ran this hotel and the next door bookstore by herself. "Most of the time the hotel stays empty. What with the weather the way it is during the winters. And the bookstore is rarely visited unless it's a News Day." She said looking out the window at the dark night.

"News day?" Martin asked taking a small sip of his tea. Georgie nodded absentmindedly.

"Yeh, we don't get much news here. The only interesting thing to happen to this town was the 'haunted woods.'" She said distastefully. "The papers started publishing a lot after that initial surge in popularity. Gave lists of people who'd gone missing. Got a lot of tourists for a time because of it. 'Monster Hunters and Paranormal Investigators,'" She quoted with her fingers. "Now no one comes and it's only news about the dozen or so people lost or found helpless and shaking in the middle of the trail. Occasionally the news will decide to print some crack-pot horror stories about the haunted forest. They always use some helpless person that thought they saw this or that in the stupid woods." She rolled her eyes, "Anyway, they send it to my shop and a couple of other businesses to distribute the papers. Those are called News Days because everyone in the town will come in to get a paper regardless of the story." Georgie sighed.

"After a couple of days the buzz wears off, but it's the only consistent thing we've known to hold on to. I've seen people, good people, break down when they see their friend's or family's name on the missing-persons list. It's-" Georgie stops herself and looks tiredly at Martin. "Awful." She whispered.

Martin nodded, "I'm sorry." He said softly looking down at his tea. He looked at her with sympathy. He'd seen people break down, cry out for a loved one killed by the monsters his mother had sworn revenge upon. He'd been in many a room with such sorrow. Like always there really wasn't much to say.

"It's alright," she said quietly. They both took a long sip of their drink in silence.

Martin thought about how small this village was. He felt so bad that it had been given such a bad curse. Of course, no one knew what the thing in the woods really was, not even Martin could be totally sure. Hopefully, his job would help them, that's what he had to think. That he was helping them, somehow, by killing this tormentor.

They sat there a while in stillness. Martin was thankful when Georgie picked up the conversation with a lighter topic. Both possessing the odd Oxford English accent this far north Georgie had started telling some interesting tales of London streets in an active youth. She offered up more tea as she continued telling novel energetic stories of her old days in uni. Martin even chipped in a couple of his own tales here and there. He talked about his mum and his favorite café near old fish market close. They got along very well until there was a small lull in the conversation and Georgie asked the reason for his visit.

Martin went quiet looking down at his tea. The cup was empty with a few little dots swirling in the bottom. "It's okay if you're a tourist. I didn't mean to offend earlier, I love tourists, only people who give me good business really." Georgie amended after seeing Martin's vacant look of panic. He never was a good liar and he hated to tell people about what he did.

Mercifully, Georgie let it slide when Martin changed the topic. He started asking about the bookstore and the town. Georgie answered his questions until they both had to turn in for the night. They said goodnight to each other fondly with the promise that at some time Martin would help Georgie fix the old sign out front and that Georgie would read some of Martins better pieces of poetry.

Martin walked back to his room feeling a lot better about coming to this town. As he settled down he thought woefully about how uncomfortable he would be when he had to sleep in his cold tent tomorrow. He set his alarm and drifted off thinking about the thing in the forest he intended to find and what he would do once he found it.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin started packing before the sun had even begun to rise. He was grateful if not a bit guilty that he'd left early enough so that he could skip the breakfast the hotel provided. He didn't want to answer questions about where he was going. Those always lead to awkward acquaintances. He really couldn't afford to become attached to anywhere long enough to make good friends. He remembered how it was the last time he'd tried to make-friends sorrowfully. Martin loaded up his Volkswagen in the still morning air. The thick fog was clinging to his glasses as he got into his vehicle and drove to the hiking path.

The trail itself was just north of the town in a valley between two rocky hills. The dampness of the morning hid the area well with a fog that stuck to the ground like wet tar. Martin could almost imagine what it would have been like centuries ago, untouched by man. The trees were half shrouded in white. The slight shine to everything made the area around him glow despite the concealed sun. It almost made the magical stories of this place seem true, even if Martin didn't believe in enchanted forests.

He parked a little ways away from the trail where the dense trees permitted no further carriage by car. He grabbed his biggest coat and his hiking bag before setting off into the mist. The slight dampness of the lower brush clung to his pants making the awful and cold trip more miserable. The small bushes were merciless and tore through his thick pants like ribbon. He stopped more than once to pull out painful thorns that had snagged in his flesh. It was more annoying than anything, but he was not looking forward to feeling it later.

Martin looked around. It was a bit unnerving at first. After a while of walking, he realized why; the forest was completely silent. No bugs, birds, or wind so much as rustled a leaf or snapped a branch, not even Martin. Once realized the silence was oppressive as he stumbled through the path, the fog clinging to his face and glasses. The steep terrain made him sweat in his heavy coat. His hands, gripping his hiking bag, were freezing in contrast, but he pushed forward. It was a wholly unpleasant walk, as he had expected it to be.

He kept his eyes out for the green dust talked about but saw none in his journey. It made sense that the creature would stay far away from well-trodden paths. Once he reached roughly the middle of the trail he veered a bit to the left and into a thick clump of trees and brush. He managed to find a spot after a couple more hours of searching. He checked his compass, dropped down his bag, and started flattening the land. It wasn't hard, the ground was firm and dry. Martin thanked whatever God was up there that the first snow of the season hadn't fallen yet.

His breath made more fog as he set up his dingy tent and worked on a good fire. Once that was taken care of he took out the traps he carried with him. They were huge metal things Martin personally had no idea how to make. In some ways, they resembled a bear trap, in others a net or a cage. Each one frustrated Martin for a good long while before they were truly set up and the warning system was in place. He all but begged those things to work correctly as his frozen hands assembled the pieces in a large circle surrounding his base.

He put traps down in clear spaces, but some lay next to trees or low bushes that hid them. He caught his thumb or finger more than once in the metal contraptions reset loaders. His mother had always nagged him about proper trap handling. He sucked on his damaged finger that he had managed to jam between a spring-lock woefully.

He was done a little past noon and walked back to his camp in silence. His fire was little more than embers but he remade it quick enough. He blew hot air into his hands and wondered how long it was going to take before anything happened.

Turns out, not long at all.

The next night after he had arrived (only preluded by a very boring day with nothing but waiting, setting more traps, and restocking the fire) Martin was awakened from his sleep by a very annoying beeping. He flailed about trying to pin the noise down and quiet it before he realized what it was. He shot up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Groggily and with as much grace as he could muster he put on his coat and shoes before wrestling with the zipper pocket n the tent. He stretched, and grabbing his alarm device, followed it to the trap that had been triggered.

It was one of those nets that pinned things to the ground or a tree. The annoying ropes Martin remembered toying with for at least half an hour to get it to spring right. It currently was doing its job by pinning something huge up against a large tree.

Martin approached it and looked at the creature he had caught through the trees. There it was. Though it didn't quite look like what Martin had expected. It's back was pressed against the bark and his side was facing towards Martin. It was currently muttering under its breath trying to reach for its knife that had fallen to the ground just barely out of reach.

Martin watched it curiously from behind a slightly slanted tree. The beast...well, it looked like a man from what he could tell from its profile. It flapped its large greenish-white wings around coating the tree in fine greenish-gray dust. The top of the tiered wings was light green and plain. Barely visible zig-zag patterns running vertically down it. The pattern seemed to move around little black lines in the wing that were placed horizontally and vertically around at random intervals. The bottom of the wing was much more decorative.

The bottom had a trail of sharp green tipping the edges of the wing-like it had been dipped in neon paint and faded into the center. In the area closer to their back there were eyes. One on each wing resembling glaring forest-green eyes with dark black dots for pupils so dark they looked bottomless.

The delicate-looking wings flicked about. Martin thought it resembled a moth's wings more than butterflies or bird's from the way it connected to the man's body and how silent the wings flapped. The creature jittered and swayed in the trap too much for Martin to get a good look at his face. Only the back of its head that was covered in thick pitch black hair with little streaks of gray. As ridiculous as it sounded and looked to Martin, two antennae fanned out from its head that was also slightly grayish-green. They were twitching aggressively.

Martin gasped as a thought hit him. It...it looked at an Angel. Like one of those beautiful winged beings that were made of lights. He'd seen them at the holidays down Regent Street or encased in church glass and murals. Martin realized that maybe having this epiphany right now wasn't the best decision as the Angel managed to lunge rather close to its sharp-looking knife laying on the ground. Martin walked out from the cover and the Angel froze.

It didn't look back at Martin but he could hear a low hissing noise accompanied by a high-pitched squeaking sound. "Uhm h-hello..." Martin said softly. The thing didn't move, instead, it increased its high-pitched squeak-hiss. "L-Look I'm not here to, um to hurt you." He said slowly approaching with his hands raised.

Instead of calming down the thing shook violently and fluttered harshly in the net. "C-careful you'll-" Martin called but it was too late. He watched as the bottom right-wing that was frantically beating bend and catch on a low hanging bush with jagged looking branches. A small tearing sound filled the air and the creature went very still. It had happened so quickly even Martin was left a little shocked looking down at the damage.

The tip of its wing had snagged in the branch and completely tore off. The wing itself held shaking tatters left behind like torn cloth. The other wings had little holes in them from being stabbed through by the thorns that had caught. Martin went pale as the creature started to scream.

It didn't sound like a chirp anymore. It sounded like a man in agony. Martin took out his smaller hunting knife from his back pocket and ran to try and free the thing before it hurt itself more. When he got close the thing looked more like a person than any creature. It scrambled, no longer moving its wings as it shook in, what looked to be, tremendous pain.

The angel was wearing a thick brown coat with a hood scrunched behind their head barely covering its thick hair. At its midsection was a silk-like belt of cloth wrapping around and holding the coat together. The long ends of the coat ended at the knees and luckily were not tied into the netting. Martin would hate to cut through the fine coat in such frigid morning weather.

The angel tried to kick at Martin, but once they saw Martins hunting knife they seemed to lose energy. The angel, Martin was pretty sure it was a man, hung his head. The cloth covering his nose and mouth muffled a defeated sort of choking sound. Martin took some of the net in his hand and started cutting. The creature did not once look up to see what he was doing. Martin didn't think he could have stayed as calm about it if the creature was looking at him. The guilt of what his actions had done to this creature already was eating at him, making him cut a little quicker at the ropes desperate to get the creature down.

Make no mistake Martin was a hunter. A decent one still learning the ropes, but he had never hunted anything that looked like a man. The thought alone sickened him. He could take care of a Wendigo, no problem, a chupacabra, sure, but he had never killed anything that looked like a human. Not even a vampire that had once tried to attack him. (His hunting buddy had to come and save him once his mother refused to.) Watching this creature tremble in pain made Martin feel sick with guilt.

Once most of the net was cut off the angel slid down the tree until he was curled at the base. The wings tried to fold around it like a cape but it just flinched in response and so they stayed open. Martin looked around and sighed. He couldn't just leave him here. "Y-you alright?" Martin stuttered putting away his knife. The creature looked up with such warm brown human eyes it stunned Martin for a moment before he recognized the glaring expression. "Right, right, o-of course you're not all right, s-stupid question," Martin mumbled. "C-Can you at, um, at least stand?" He asked offering a hand and tucking his knife away quickly.

It flinched back in response and Martin took his hand back. He watched as the angel slowly rose to its feet using the tree as support. It clearly underestimated the amount of energy it was going to take because as soon as it stood it's knees buckled. Martin caught them out of instinct more than thought. Apparently the wounded angel didn't see another choice in this situation so it allowed Martin to support and steady them. From the look Martin was getting they were none too happy about it.

"W-We could walk to my camp, if, if you want, um, it's n-not that far," Martin suggested after making sure the angel wouldn't fall down again. "Can you, um do you think you c-could, perhaps uh, walk?" He got another glare for that one. Martin huffed, he was a little miffed as to what to do next. "L-Look I'm not going to just _leave_ you here. Could you just um, kind of need to work with me here? Not- I'm, look I'm trying to help you. I-If you'd just, um..." A low hissing noise came from the creature in response. Martin took that as a reluctant answer and started to gently move the creature's arm around him before pressing forward. He fought a faint blush, but if ever, now was _not_ the time. He was careful to make sure the angel was guided through the worst parts as its wings started dragging in the dirt halfway to the camp. The angels face growing more dejected with each step.

"So..." Martin said on the long awkward journey. "Can you, um, talk?" The creature gave him a quizzical look. "W-W-Well you know, like talking?" Martin fought the blush that was blooming across his face valiantly. "What I'm doing right now." The creature rolled its eyes. "Um well, I'm M-Martin," Martin said exaggerating pointing to his chest with his hand that wasn't helping hold up the angel.

"Jon. And I can talk, idiot." The angel said through his teeth, once again rolling his eyes. "I'm just in a lot of pain right now so if you don't mind shutting up while you drag me along to wherever you plan to imprison me." He growled lowly.

Martin was sure the guilt was written plain as day across his face as he reached his camp in silence. "I'm not going to- look I'm sorry by the way. I didn't m-mean for this to happen." He sat the man down on a stump next to his fireplace as he worked on getting a fire started. Once a good roaring flame had sputtered to life Martin looked more closely at the angel. He had pulled down the cloth covering his mouth as was looking at Martin like he was analyzing the most incompetent thing on the planet. "I just...I want to help, is there anything, um, anything I can do t-to help you get better?"

Jon sat in thought for a moment before answering. "You can leave me alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking of working on getting a tumblr set up for this fic specifically, but I’m not sure I’m going to do it cuz I’m a lazy bones. Any-who hope you enjoyed this chapter, thought I’d post it a little earlier since I had some time. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings apply for this chapter in the end notes.

"W-what? Leave? I'm not l-leaving you while you're hurt? Do you even know how d-dangerous that would be?" Martin gawked. Jon scowled and looked away.

"It's bad enough to be here when no one wants you here. I've tried so hard to keep people from wondering, but whatever I do," he said exasperated, "they always go ahead and do it anyway." Jon scooted down and sat close to the fire. He frowned and held his hands to the warmth. Martin sat across from him on a fallen tree.

"You keep people from wandering?" Martin asked taking a twig he had been fiddling with and tossing it into the fire. It popped loudly. The sound echoed in the awkward silence. Martin's refusal to be insulted by Jon's words made the tension worse, but he supposed having an awkward conversation with an angry-forest-angel-thing wasn't the worst he'd expected. Jon looked at Martin and raised his arms dramatically. He swept them around in a Hail-Mary gesture. Martin gave him a confused look and Jon pitched the bridge of his nose.

"I...well sometimes I see people out here and lead them back," Jon said stretching one of his wings back despite the flinch that jerked his entire body. He gritted his teeth before relaxing slightly. "The ones I can find, anyway."

"You lead them back, the people in the village..." Martin said beginning to look uneasy. He was starting to connect the dots, but he didn't want to truly accuse Jon of murdering people. He, well, to be frank, he didn't look the type.

Jon seemed a bit surprised but schooled his features to a more professional look. "They remember?" Jon looked down at the earth quizzically. "Then why would you..." He looked off into the forest. Jon placed a hand on the ground and the other held his undamaged wing. Martin saw the earth underneath Jon start to glow a light green color. The undergrowth started to pulse around him. Moss as well as lichen and small mushrooms grew next to his palm. Jon didn't seem to notice, lost in thought.

Martin had never seen or heard of an angel that could do that. He watched as a small group of mushrooms appeared to grow and spread between Jon's fingers rapidly. They were pure white and grew tall with a soft cap that fanned out as beautiful and pristine as new-fallen snow. He recalled that they were toxic fungi but couldn't place the name. He shook his head, that was the least of his worries. What Jon just said, about the lost people, he thought a moment. Then the story clicked into Martin's head. The green dust from Jon's wings, the figures in the fog; had it been only Jon all this time?

"The lost people?" Martin asked cautiously. Jon looked uncomfortable. "You know where they are."

"I don't." Jon cut Martin off swiftly. "I'm not a compass. I just see them sometimes. This isn't of concern to you." Jon replied coolly, "Now if you'll excuse me." He made a motion to stand and Martin was by his side in an instant. It was obvious Jon wanted this conversation to end so Martin let the subject drop for now. He was still a bit cautious though, just to be safe.

Holding Jon up Martin took the chance to look over his wings. The small dust-like scales gave off a sight glow like the ground had when Jon grew the now rapidly dying plants. It was kind of freaking Martin out.

He had dealt with weirder things, mind you. Some of his best friends weren't even human. So this hit the scale of weird shit he'd seen around a seven...if Martin didn't think about it too hard. It was still a bit surreal. He had been expecting something inhuman. Jaws and fangs and claws and spooky stuff. And while Jon did have sharp nails that dug into Martin's arm as he steadied him, they were indefinitely human. Maybe Jon had fangs? He would have to check later.

Jon held one of his wings close like a cloak. The strange material bending easily under his hand as he held it. Martin saw his shoulders droop a bit as he calmed down slightly. He shivered and assessed the damage. "Hey, Eh, how long do you think you will need to recover?" Martin asked gesturing to the tear on the bottom wing they were both staring at in dismay.

Jon turned and looked him dead in the eye. "Never." He responded swiftly and dully.

"Never?" Martin's voice reached a higher pitch.

"My wings don't heal like my body does. To really recover I'd need to...well...let's just say I can't do anything about it." Jon said with finality. He looked at Martin and frowned. "What's with the face you're making?"

"You...sound so...okay with that?" Martin really didn't mean for his voice to ascend octaves.

"Yes, well I haven't properly flown in ages. This might make some things a bit more...difficult." Martin gave him a pitying look. "But! It's nothing I can't handle by myself." Jon snapped pushing Martin and walking a bit away from him.

"I have no doubt you could-"

" _And have_ ," Jon said with emphasis.

"Right," Martin said holding out his hands in a bit of a surrender. " _And have_ taken care of yourself, but I want to help. And it's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon." Martin finished.

Jon froze and looked at him oddly. "What do you mean you aren't going to leave any time soon? You have to leave, we- I- you. You have to leave. Do you have any idea what they'll do to you if they find you here?" Jon clamped his hand over his mouth quickly like he'd just spilled the secret to winning the lotto. He glared at Martin like this was somehow his fault. Which, yeh, that stung a bit.

"Who's they, Jon? Someone in the forest besides you?" Martin asked, but Jon just shook his head and turned away. His wings tried to flare but instead, they ruffled and shook. Martin sighed in frustration. "L-Look, I'm here searching for the missing people, a-alright?" He admitted. He paused and looked over Jon anticipating a reaction. He saw Jon turn around and look at him with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"You're looking for-" Jon cut himself off. He mumbled something under his breath.

"I am looking for the monster that took the people you try and lead back," Martin said cautiously hesitating to say the bigger truth.

Jon let out a low chuckle. Martin was a bit disturbed by the laugh. "I-it's not funny, Jon. People have, well they've gotten seriously hurt here."

"Mm, their own faults really." Jon looked at Martin closely. "Mostly they were just out here searching for monsters." He paused and said softer. "Got...got what they were after..."

Martin's face paled and Jon was looking at the floor. Neither spoke for a moment. The words Jon had said lay in the air like the thick fog that had rolled around Martins camp.

Martin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them Jon was gone. The fog had thickened terribly and Martin could hardly see the glow of the fire as dull as it was. The eerie silence lasted a beat before Martin started to move. "Jon? Where are you?"

"If you knew what's best you would leave, Martin." Jon's voice said further away. Martin couldn't see Jon walk away, but he could somehow feel that his presence was no longer there.

Martin took another second to let out a deep hollow sigh he'd been holding rang out into the silence. He grabbed his bag and pulled out a notebook. It seemed that the angel had taken the opportunity to escape Martin's questioning. The guilt of letting Jon wander around injured stewed in him before he shoved it down with the rest of the feelings he saved for bringing up in his poetry. He had to focus.

He wrote down what he knew now. Who Jon was and how he'd found him in the forest. He thought about Jon's slip at the end. He had said "they" hadn't he? Which meant there was more than just him in these woods. Martin would have to go searching. Perhaps he'd see Jon again or he would come back to ask for help. He set a reminder to move some of the traps away from the thorn bushes before he left, just in case.

Finding those people and the thing (or things) that took them just became a lot harder. Martin wasn't sure he could fully cross Jon off the list of suspects who had harmed or lead people to their eventual death or disappearance. Then again, why would Jon go through the trouble of telling Martin to leave if he was just going to come back to kill him? It didn't make sense and Martin quickly grew bored of running circles in his own head. He needed to do something to get this pent up energy out.

He grabbed his bag and took a granola bar with him as he walked away from his camp. He would fix the traps later.

He shivered as he passed the bush that still contained the scraps of Jon's wings. Martin didn't want to just leave them there, so with gloved hands, he carefully took the pieces and placed them between the sheets of an old blanket he had brought. He tucked them away safely in his bag before heading on.

According to his compass, he was heading northwest of the main trail. The temperature was colder than the last few days had been, but gradually it seemed to get warmer the longer he walked. He also felt relieved when he started hearing the wind and soft noises in the background once more.

Martin let out a soft sigh of relief when he came to a small area with a break in the trees. He'd walked half a day and was about ready to eat and turn back. The area was up against a rather steep cliff that seemed unnatural to the terrain that was common in these mountainous northern areas of the isle. He walked over to a small rock to rest a bit. He debated whether to take off his heavy coat or not, but decided to keep it on in case the sharp chill came back.

As Martin was resting he examined the cliff face passively. Upon closer inspection, the soft-looking rock seemed filled with small holes no bigger than a five pence coin. They covered the wall of it littering the cliff up and down at random. If Martin sat still enough he could swear he heard the sounds of chattering and scuttling coming from the wall. His heart sank to his stomach. Something wasn't right about that sound.

The noise grew closer behind him and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt as though he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder and saw a girl with oily black hair looking at him from a distance. Martin stood immediately and backed away gasping. "Who are you?" Something really didn't feel right. The scampering got louder within the cliff and Martin could swear he saw little white worms wriggling inside. The scene made his stomach turn over and growl.

The girl approached Martin. Her face was covered in large and small holes just like the cliff. Her soft dirty dress blew in the wind wafting the smell of decay towards Martin. The closer she got the more he could see of her destroyed face. It was mostly eaten and bloated. One of her eyes was completely missing, and Martin did not have the heart or stomach to look closely at what squirmed inside. "What are you?" He squeaked.

That seemed to give the creature some amusement as it smiled at him revealing even more of her unpleasantness. "It has been a while since we've had company." Her voice sounded hollow and strained, but slow. Deliberate in its execution of the strange sounds Martin could barely call human noises.

"L-leave me alone." That plea brought out another chuckle.

"The spider never lets us have any company. It'd be a waste not to keep this gift since you've so nicely walked into our nest." She chuckled and black ooze ran down her lips and onto the ground where it sizzled and bloomed maggots that writhed and fed upon it.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. She laughed at Martin's terrified face. A horrid sound that once again echoed with a crescendo of thousands of squirming wet worms pouring out of the cliff to join in her mirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: worms, trypophobia, gore, Jane Prentiss is still gross, I’m sorry


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings apply for this chapter in the end notes.

Martin watched the small white worms crawl from the cliffside holes and fall like rain onto the Earth. Some of them were getting rather close, and Martin covered his mouth to suppress a whimper as he backed away. He tripped on a root behind him and his reflexes kicked in to regain his balance. He turned tail and ran.

He could hear the horrid screeching of the thing behind him as he sprinted and stumbled on the uneven ground. His breath became strained and uneven as his lungs struggled to take in the semi-fridged air. Sweat ran down his back in his heavy jacket; the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. His ankle throbbed, having probably twisted it when he'd started to run. He let out a soft stream of 'Ows' as he tore through the thickets of the forest. He ran until the air became ice cold and burned his lungs. He stopped for a second to cough on the frigid air, but he heard her still perusing. The gross squelching sound now more intense and faster than before. He took off in a sprint through the thicker woods.

His backpack repeatedly snagged on branches within the thick brush. Martin could feel the first snow of the season pelt his face as he barreled through. One of the backpack straps decided to give way. It completely broke with a hard snap that Martin was sure would leave a gigantic bruise on his shoulder. The branch it had caught in whipped back and cut Martins cheek as he turned to pull his bag off. He cursed as he saw behind him and found a literal wave of white squirming worms coming for him. His eyes went wide and he started to tremble.

To hell with it, he grabbed a weapon and a small can of bug spray he'd brought with him from the pocket of his bag. He pulled off the pack and tossed it into a nearby tree. He couldn't go back, he just had to hope that whatever this thing was it couldn't climb trees.

He'd pulled a small handgun and quickly turned to fire two shots into the ground hitting a group of worms whose bits flew in different directions. The women walked closer. Even though Martin had run away she now seemed close enough to almost make out the distinct way her belly squirmed under her tattered dress. He'd made her angry, at the look of contorted rage she gave him. He guessed she'd thought he wouldn't be much of a fight. It wouldn't be the first time something had underestimated him. The sickening scent of her reeking and fowl made its way to Martin's lungs and he choked. He looked around frantically for something to help quell the swarm of bugs only feet away.

He put his gun on safety and pressed it into his back pocket. He started to climb the tree his bag had flown into rapidly. Sweat was beading down his face as he struggled with the effort to pull himself up.

In his hand, he gripped a small can of Off! Bug spray he'd yanked from his bag. The small pathetic can wasn't going to be useful for an infestation this big. "S-s-stay back!" Martin said, holding onto a branch as he tried to keep his weight off the ground. It groaned and made a distressing crack sound. Martin wasn't exactly a small man. He prayed the branch would hold as he held out the can of repellent like a sword.

That seemed to at the least give the women pause as she looked up at him, smiling so unnaturally. "I-I'm warning y-you," Martin said getting a good grip and pointing the can down at her.

"What's that you got there?" The thing hissed. She no longer sounded anything like a human. "What is it?" She chortled as her swarm crowded Martins tree. The worms, to Martin's great dismay and sickened wonder, had started to mound at the base. They piled higher and the noises they made were the worst kind Martin had ever heard. Wriggling masses of deadly white with beady little black eyes and mouths that opened and closed together when the women breathed full of little sharp teeth.

Martin clenched the can and shook it hard. He banged it against the tree begging this to be enough for the pressure to build up a long spray. A last-ditch effort to cover himself in as much of the stuff as possible. The can made a small wheezing noise and Martin smacked it against the tree. The bottom of the can knocked a branch and Martin fumbled and reached out before seeing the last of his dented hope fall from his hand and onto the ground at the women's feet. Martin watched at the can fall down with deep dismay. Why, WHY, did these things happen to him?

He recovered himself quickly and grabbed his gun. The worms were scuttling up the tree at an alarming rate. He looked down to see the women pick up the can and suddenly Martin thought of a new plan.

He aimed his gun and prayed to whatever be that he could shoot straight. He lined up the shot and it was like everything slowed down. The bullet flew through the air and pierced the side of the can. The pressure exploded covering the ladies' face in wet poison and can bits. The woman screamed and the swarm fell down the tree to her at an alarming speed. She was clutching her eyes and weeping black blood. Martin watched in horror as the retreating worms crawled up her legs and onto her eyes. They ate her poisoned and bloody face before becoming bloated and falling to the ground. The screams got worse once realized that many of the worms surrounding her were now dead.

By then Martin was running again. His gun was in his hand and the hair on the back of his neck was still up, the feeling of being watched was more intense now, but he kept running until he reached a small clearing he barely recognized.

He stopped and slipped on the snowy ground. He was shivering and coughing and so very tired. He struggled to his feet, not wanting to die in a snowy hellish forest. He tromped across the land for a few more minutes before stumbling across the hiking trail. He let out a soft noise of relief and followed it back to his car.

He deserved a warm bath after that mess. Especially since he knew he'd have to look for his bag tomorrow. His stuff should be fine for the night, he hoped.

He drove to the village using the spare key and extra phone he kept in his trunk. The tail light had long been busted so he was able to get the keys with minimal struggle. He was careful to drive slow, as the already patched-up roads were now covered in snow. Eventually, the car huffed its way out into the main road to Martin's great relief.

He rolled into The Rusty Hotel's parking lot and turned the car off before he really gave himself time to comprehend what had just happened. He let out a shaky sigh into his hands before settling into his car seat.

"I-okay..." he mumbled to himself. "C-Creepy worm lady that's a new one. So Jon isn't the only dangerous one in the forest...h-how many things ARE in this forest? Okay, okay, don't panic. Don't panic. Just, do some research, it can't be that b-bad. Least it's not, like, a nest of vampires or something." He said with little hope. He exited the car focusing on not letting the hope he'd just gained fall flat.

He stumbled into Georgie's and rang the little bell on the reception desk. The main area was empty and Martin looked at a clock on the wall. It was almost two in the morning. A startlingly sleepy Georgie came into the reception area. Her pajamas littered with little lamas and hearts. "MmmMar'in? Wot're you doin' up so late?" She slurred and looked him over. "Looks like 'ou got hit by a bus."

Martin blushed, he knew he must have looked a bit like a loony. "S-sorry."

"No, no, s'alright. Seen a lot worse shit around here I suppose." She paused in thought and silence overtook the conversation. After a while, she looked back at him. "You'd want a room then?"

"Oh, oh! Y-y-yes. Please? Um, if it's not too much trouble?" Martin stammered. He was starting to really feel the effects of the day dragging down his body. He could feel the ache all the way to his bones. Georgie nodded and grabbed him a key off the back wall. Martin pulled out his spare cash and left it on the table after she gave him directions up to his room.

He was almost to the room before Georgie's head poked out of a door to where she apparently resided. "Oh, we have other guests," she mouthed the words 'Ghost Hunters,' to Martin pointing at the room next to his. "So try and be quiet," she whispered. Martin nodded and unlocked his door.

He quickly took off his jacket, assessing the damage. There were cuts and holes scattered across it. The white insulation falling out of each hole and deflating the garment. He would have to find a new one later. He pulled off his shirt and half-frozen pants with his hiking boots and socks feeling the warmth of the room contrast with his burning cold skin. He quickly started a shower.

He checked the mirror several times as the water was heating up. He didn't see any worms or holes or anything which was a huge relief. He let out a soft sigh, letting his nerves calm a bit. He took a long shower making sure to scrub every inch of him. He watched the dirt and twigs pile at the bottom of the shower drain. Once he was done he dried off and washed off his clothing in the shower with a bit of soap. He'd left his extra clothes back at his camp, but he wasn't really worrying about it now.

He hung up his wet clothes and face planted into the bed. It felt like heaven and Martin was asleep in an instant.

He didn't wake up until noon. He pushed himself off the bed. He hadn't even remembered to get under the covers before he had passed out. Pulling on his old, slightly soapy smelling clothes he went over to the dining area. He was happy to see Georgie there setting out sandwiches for lunch. He thanked the powers that be for the blessing that was Georgie before grabbing himself some food.

He noticed he wasn't alone in the dining area. There were several other people crowded into the relatively small space. They were chatting loudly and were very animated with their movements. Georgie slid down in the seat next to Martin. They both stared at the group for a bit.

"But cheeky aren't they?" Georgie whispered giving Martin a smirk. Martin looked at her and nodded. "Seen them around a couple of times. They run a podcast. The main host," Georgie pointed to a woman with short black hair wearing sunglasses talking just as adamantly as her coworkers, "came up here last year asking people around town for interviews. Knows most of the town by now. Practically a regular." Georgie said in soft amusement. The lady in question turned and looked at them. A smile spread across her face as he stood and walked over to their table.

"Don't think I've been introduced to this one." She said sitting down across from Martin and taking off her glasses. One of her eyes was completely white, the other was gazing at Martin with an intensity that made him look away. Georgie smiled brightly.

"Oh right! Introductions, Martin this is Melanie King, Melanie, this is Martin Blackwood. He's here on vacation." Georgie said cheerfully. Martin mumbled a friendly hello and Melanie waved.

"Bit of a shit time to come, what with the rumors about the haunted forest," Melanie said leaning back in her chair. Martin couldn't stop the small bubble of laughter that rose out of him as he nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: trypophobia, worms, gore, blood, cannibalism sort-of? Worm Wife, you know how it be.


End file.
